The Secret Invasion of Port Isabel
Page 9
CHAPTER 9
DROPPING IN ON PIRATES
After an hour of fruitlessly searching the wet streets of Port Isabel for pirates disguised as sheep, Flossy and Reginald made their way back to the Stinging Nettle. The enormous animal was full of curiosity about his little human cousin and the society from which she had come.
‘So, you’re saying you have no talking animals in Australia?’ said Reginald.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Flossy.
‘Fascinating! Then it must have been quite a shock finding yourself aboard the Interloper.’
‘It was. Pirate Pratt’s flea-bitten mutts were actually talking to one another. At first I thought they were just the barks and growls of dumb animals. No offence intended.’
‘Oh, none taken.’ Reginald stepped hard in a deep puddle, requiring Flossy to leap aside to avoid being drenched by the tidal wave. ‘Sorry. No offence intended,’ he said.
‘Very funny, Reginald! If you didn’t like getting wet, I’d splash you back.’ Flossy allowed a wide margin as she skirted the next puddle. It wasn’t that she was worried about getting any wetter. She just didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
‘Besides, I didn’t mean you were a dumb animal. You are the smartest… person I’ve ever met. I was thinking about the animals back home. They can’t talk. They just have instincts, no thoughts and feelings…’
‘Are you so sure?’ Reginald asked.
They had searched most of the long hill sweeping up from Town Square. Reginald was too large for the labyrinthine laneways, so while he searched the main thoroughfares, parks and squares, she searched the adjoining laneways and alleys. Neither of them had seen any trace of dogs or sheep. She kept a wary eye on the rooftops too but hadn’t seen any shadows, and nothing else had fallen.
‘Yes, I’m sure. They’re nothing like you and the others I’ve met here. They don’t build things, they don’t cooperate…’
‘Do all humans in Australia build things and cooperate?’ asked Reginald.
‘No, not all. Many just benefit from others doing… oh, I see your point. So you think that in the same way, Australian animals are people who just don’t work together to make things?’
‘It’s possible, don’t you think?’ said Reginald, swaying as he walked slowly by her side.
Flossy deftly jumped over a deep gutter half full of fast moving water, which made her sword clattered at her side.
‘Possible, yes. But it’s still unlikely. If you met them, you would realise the people living in Port Isabel are completely different. When I met Harry, I knew immediately that I was meeting a… proper person. The way he looked at me, and Larry too, made it obvious. That’s not how it is with Australian animals. There is… an absence of thoughtfulness in their eyes.’
They passed under the arch of an old aqueduct. Part of it had collapsed long ago and grass was reclaiming the rubble. Rainwater cascaded from a breach above their heads.
‘And their heads are smaller, so their brains are probably smaller too,’ Flossy added.
‘Smaller heads, you say? I’d never imagined there might still be animals in the world like that. We only have bones of small-headed animals. I’ll have to ponder this idea further. Do you know how they lost the ability to think and talk? Was it neglect of use, or was it somehow taken from them?’
Flossy didn’t answer, she stood stock still, every sense heightened. Something had moved behind the third aqueduct pylon from where she stood.
‘I think there’s someone down there,’ she whispered.
Reginald silently moved behind the closest pylon so he was out of sight. ‘I don’t see anyone,’ he whispered. He raised his trunk and sniffed. ‘But I smell sheep, yes it’s definitely sheep.’
‘I’m going to have a look,’ said Flossy.
She removed her waterlogged jacket and laid it at the foot of the pylon. Next she arranged her sword and scabbard behind her so it wouldn’t get in the way when she climbed.
‘Can you..?’ she asked Reginald, pointing up.
Reginald extended his trunk and lifted Flossy onto his back. From there she pulled herself up and over the edge of the aqueduct and rolled into the trench. She was on the dry side of the breach. The rain had eased and fog was now rolling across the town. Without her jacket, every raindrop was a cold pinprick that robbed her of what warmth remained. Her bare feet ached with cold.
Keeping low and moving as quietly as she could she crawled along the aqueduct until she reached the top of the third pylon. Pushing her wet hair away from her face she carefully peered over the edge. There were six pirates below, all of them artfully disguised as sheep. They were huddled together talking. One of them was arranging a sword that looked just like hers; another was struggling to put on too small a vest. It also looked like hers. They were dressing as pirates. From above she couldn’t recognise any of them, their costumes was perfect. No wonder they had been able to move around Port Isabel so freely, without being noticed. But why bother disguising themselves as sheep only to give away their true identities by wearing pirate clothes? There was only one way to find out.
Flossy leapt from the aqueduct and fell into the middle of the pack. She used two of the pirates to help break her fall. They collapsed under her weight and she rolled to the side, landing on her feet in a fighting stance. Before the pirates knew what had hit them, Flossy was in their midst with her sword drawn.
‘It’s her!’ cried one pirate. ‘Baaa-aaa!’ bleated the others in unison.
‘You’re not dogs!’ said a surprised Flossy.
‘You see, I told you she wore her sword to the side,’ said one of the sheep. ‘Baaa-aaa. Sword to the side, sword to the side,’ bleated the others.
They were all of them, without question, sheep. They weren’t pirates dressed as sheep. They were sheep dressed as pirates. She hadn’t landed on a pack of dogs but a flock of sheep dressed in poor fitting pirate clothes.
When Reginald arrived he was chuckling. Flossy was sitting on a low wall with her head in her hands. The sheep faced her and were busy discussing her clothes and arranging their own. The sheep who wore a wooden sword now wore it to the side, just like she did.
Reginald handed Flossy her wet jacket. ‘Were these the pirates you saw near Town Square?’ he asked.
‘They must have been. I’m so sorry I’ve caused everyone so much trouble.’
‘Oh, that’s okay. I like the rain and I’ve enjoyed showing you around town and getting to know you. Besides, in these kind of matters it’s better to be safe than sorry.’
Flossy stood and squeezed into her wet jacket.
‘Look at the silver buttons!’ said one of the sheep with round eyes. ‘Where can we get a jacket like that?’ The other jostled to see. ‘The buttons, the buttons, baaa-aaa!’ they chorused.
‘Is that a real pirate belt?’ another asked eagerly, as it examined the belt holding up the sailor’s pants she had trimmed with lace. ‘The belt, the belt!’ bleated the others.
Flossy adjusted her belt—actually a piece of rope she’d borrowed from the Interloper. With all the activity over the past few days, and her irregular eating, she had already lost weight. She would need to watch that.
‘Your first ever fans,’ said Reginald, laughing warmly.
‘But why would they want to dress like me?’
‘There’s no accounting for good taste,’ said Reginald, a twinkle in his eye.
‘Thanks a lot, Reginald. You really are the master diplomat.’
Reginald followed Flossy past the rubble piles and back onto the road.